


Fishfucker: A Team Building Exercise

by Unicoranglais



Category: Return of the Obra Dinn (Video Game)
Genre: And Also The Fucking, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Storytelling, The Fish Is A Lie, The Whole Title Is A Damn Lie And You're Not Getting Your Money Back
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-23
Updated: 2020-09-23
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:22:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26613655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unicoranglais/pseuds/Unicoranglais
Summary: In which Lanke tries to keep the young men's spirits up with a Team Building Exercise For Young Men At Sea. And Walker and Brennan ruin it, because of course.(No actual fucking occurs, of fish or otherwise.)
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 8





	Fishfucker: A Team Building Exercise

**Author's Note:**

> Hey look, it's me goofing off while I'm writing more serious/better analyzed dinn content (which may or may not ever get finished, but I'm 20k words in so who knows). 
> 
> All I'm saying is, this is for fun. Please don't take it too seriously.

The night after the _crustacean incident_ was warm and clear, full of stars. It was like whatever had sent _those things_ was now determined to have them navigate home, and after all he’d seen, Pete felt that the sooner he was home and never on another damned boat again, the better.

Still, home was at least a few days away. You couldn’t keep worrying about more _demons_ and _en daemons_ and _monsters_ and more deaths for days, not even a few days,said Lanke (who was so concerned with his eventual promotion, he straight up didn’t answer to his first name). You’d go mad like old Dahl if you did that! Everybody needed a distraction.

Which was a good idea in _theory_ , not that Milroy had ever been much of a theories person - but then Lanke had pulled out his _Treasury of Team Building Exercises for Young Men At Sea,_ a lengthy tome bound in green and gold. The only reason nobody had bothered stealing it yet was, well, it was a _Treasury of Team Building Exercises for Young Men At Sea._ Not even Lars would have been dumb enough to take that.

And now, here they were. Those not on duty, not officers, and also not dead sat in a sad little circle on the deck, by the steering wheel. Pete counted only seven in total – there was himself and Lanke, of course, and then the two youngest on the boat, Rod and Davey. Being stewards, they didn’t exactly have to do much this late at night, so they’d been unable to escape Lanke’s demands.

Moss stood over those two – another steward, but much older and more senior, and who had one hand on his sword like he was expecting some sort of trouble. Fair enough, considering that the last two in the group were two smart alecs, Walker and Brennan; two older seamen who absolutely hadn’t been invited to the team building exercise and were already grinning like hyenas about it. Pete wasn’t sure what they were up to, but he could see he’d have to keep an eye on them if any kind of team was to be built.

For now, he leaned his back against the mast, so that Lanke could lean into him when he got up to address his very own ‘team’. Team! Good grief.

“We’re going to follow Team Building Exercise Two-Ninety-Three,” he told the others, who stared blankly back at him. “Part B.” Pete went to say something, but the boat rocked, and he took Lanke’s elbow to the head. The only reason nobody was laughing at this point was probably because of all the horrors they’d endured; that and Lanke outranked the seamen, despite being only nineteen. “Er. Part B, from this _Treasury of Team Building Exercises for Young Men At Sea_?”

“Tell them what it is,” Pete hissed, rubbing at his ear, and Lanke hastily flipped through the book.

“Story telling! We’ll go around, and you each tell a story. It can be anything.” And he began to read from the book: “Says here - _the age-old tradition of story telling is cathartic, and can be used to resolve complex traumas_. Any questions?”

“He means telling tales’ll make you feel better,” Pete translated, and winced. Usually, Charlie would have done the translating of Lankese to proper English. Charlie wasn’t around anymore, because he’d been a stupid git with that stupid lantern and the stupid crab that Pete had run his sword through like a stupid idiot, except he was pretty sure Charlie had been alive on the crab at that point and now-

_stupid git._

“Question.” Walker put his hand up, like a school child might, which put Pete on high alert. The moron even had _that_ smirk on his face. “What if the story’s true?”

Lanke looked at the book, then back at Walker, then seemed to think about it. “I suppose that would be better than if it isn’t.”

For some peculiar and probably very-no-good-reason, Walker laughed. Brennan did, too. Pete set his jaw, but for now, Lanke seemed content to go on with the exercise. “I’ll start. Once upon a time, there was-” His brow furrowed, like he really had to think about this. “-a girl called Little Blue Red Riding Hood. Ah, Little Blue Red Riding Hood found it very difficult to make up stories, so… I need to think about this.”

Brennan snickered, so Lanke turned to Davey. “Here, _you_ go. Just make something up.”

“Yeah, Davey, just make something up,” echoed Walker, apparently just to make the kid squirm that much more. “Like how Lanke just made something up, just now, real creative and such.” Pete folded his arms and gave him a stern look, though it wasn’t that stern because _Little Blue Red Riding Hood_ was now stuck in his head. Of all the stupid things that git could have come up with-!

Oh. He _hadn’t_ come up with that. Hershtik had, before him. Pete swallowed, and kept his stare on Davey.

“I-it can be anything,” Rod stammered, nudging his fellow steward into action. “Like that ah, dream you were telling me about. You can tell the sirs.”

Davey sat up straight. Still looked tiny compared to the rest of them, what with his age and all, but at least he tried. “Well, I had a dream the other night. I dreamed about going home. And telling everyone at home that I made it home. Despite all this… bad luck.”

“Don’t think you’ll be going anywhere without people who can actually sail,” Brennan grinned, and paused, just in case Davey felt like questioning that. Pete watched the younger boy fidget; it was all he could do to hold his own tongue. _Let Lanke be in charge, don’t let the leadership get confused._ “It’s all about who you know, you know?”

“You’ll make it home, boy”, Moss said. “I’ll… we’ll make sure of it.”

Something passed between Moss and Davey then, a small nod. Having suffered enough betrayals to last a small lifetime, Pete did his best not to care about it, but also they were all totally getting betrayed later, weren’t they. “Well. I’ve got a story, and it’s true.”

He patted the sword at his side, and no, not _just_ to point out to Moss that he had a sword too, so betraying him right now would be a poor idea. “So, I don’t think you lot know about this, but I taught Nichols a real lesson. It was a dark and stormy night-”

“Bullshit!” exclaimed Brennan, leaping to his feet. Pete’s heart skipped a beat, and Moss’s blade came straight out of its sheath. Great. “Can’t have been a dark and stormy night, it was so clear we could see their boats from miles off! Hey- the hell’re you doing with that?”

“Right!” Pete didn’t move, so as not to startle Brennan. It wouldn’t do to have another person killed. “I’m just trying to be a good writer. They say ‘it was a dark and stormy night’ a lot.”

“Huh.”

“Are you going to sit down?” Lanke asked, but he was looking at Moss when he said it. “This is a _team building exercise,_ you have to behave like a team. Meaning, no altercations, arguments, or general disorder.”

Pause. Stare. _Oh yes, Hershtik not here, Hershtik died horribly, right, right._

“He means no fighting,” Peter managed after a truly horrible minute, and Brennan plonked himself back down on the deck, which made Rod jump, which made Walker snicker loudly at it all. “Let me tell my story, all right? It was a dark and stormy night, and suddenly, I heard this sound. It sounded _exactly_ like Butement getting clubbed over the head!”

Silence. Pete sighed. “Or as some of you call him, ‘Titty Tattoo Tim’.”

The two young stewards and Walker found something very interesting to look at on the deck; Moss cracked a wry smile, and Brennan and Walker just about pissed themselves laughing. Brennan was giggling so badly, he had to grab the topman’s shoulder so as not to fall over.

“W-way to _listen out for the regional nicknames, Pete!”_ Walker roared, and Lanke scowled. “That _accent!_ God, listen to how he says titty, all hoity-toity like! Toity Tattoo- you ever even seen a titty?”

“Say titty again!” Brennan added. “C’mon, _Pete!_ ”

Lanke stomped a foot. “That won’t do! You address him as Milroy! Midshipman Milroy!” And he pulled Pete to his feet. “You’ll sit quietly and let him finish the team building exercise, or… or you won’t get to tell your stories at all!”

Pete was fully expecting more laughter and more banter, but to his surprise Walker actually stopped laughing, and stomped on Brennan’s foot until he stopped laughing too. “Well, that wouldn’t do. I’d hate to miss out on whatever happened to… Toity Tattoo Tim.”

A small chuckle, there. Pete rolled his eyes. “Right, so. Butement!"

"Titty-"

"Yes, yes, I heard him get clubbed by Nichol’s mob. I rushed out, and there they all were on the deck!" He paused, for dramatic effect, and Rod's eyes went very wide. Pete tried not to feel too annoyed when the steward almost inevitably interrupted.

"I-is that all of it, sir?"

"Of course not. So I pulled my sword on them and hit them so much, they all got scared and jumped in the boats. All of them… except Nichols. Being an officer an all, he was the meanest of the lot. So I fought him until he, er, ran off.”

Walker licked his lips, tilted his head. “How come we found you in the cabins, then?”

“I was just playing dead back there, because I’m modest. Besides, I figured he’d come back when he felt confident.” He looked over at Moss, and whatever plan might be there. “I did it ‘cos I’m strong and trustworthy.”

Moss smiled. Still had one hand on his sword, though. “Very trustworthy, Milroy. And you didn’t tell anyone until now.”

“Only because I think you’re _worth_ trusting-”

“I-I thought of a story, sir!” Rod exclaimed, presumably wanting to break up some perceived argument. “It’s about…” His gaze alighted on Lanke’s book. “Team building exercises?”

Sniggering from Brennan and Walker, of course. “My story’s better than that,” said Walker, and whispered something to Brennan, who sneered. Great, now Pete was really dreading their turn.

Lanke, on the other hand, eyed up Rod with something almost resembling pride. “Proceed.”

“Well, it’s not so much a story, as something I read once. In a book. About team-building exercise Two-Ninety-Three, Part B - _the age-old tradition of story telling is cathartic, and can be used to resolve complex traumas…_ ” And from there, Rod appeared to be delivering Lanke’s own book back to him, word by word. The midshipman even sat down so that Pete could follow along, as Rod repeated back every word of an exercise he surely shouldn’t have known. “…a-and that would be everything.” Rod frowned. “Though I did memorize all five hundred sixty-two pages, if you want?”

Lanke checked the back of the book. “Five hundred and sixty two! Well done.”

“Was that truly a story?” Moss wondered.

“It doesn’t matter, he passes,” Lanke snapped.

“Th-there’s a way to fail?!?”

That was Rod, of course. “Never mind that!” said Lanke, and he pointed right at Brennan. “You, you’ve laughed enough. Come on and tell us whatever you’ve thought up.”

Brennan stroked at his chin. “Whatever I’ve thought up? That’s rude. I _was_ going to warn all of you about the killer on board, but now I don’t think I will.”

“Killer?” Moss growled, and took a step towards Brennan, who just grinned.

“You had better tell us about this,” Lanke said. “It’s going straight to the captain, you know.”

“Well, if it’s the _captain…”_ Brennan seemed to bask in the attention for a moment, looking about the circle before settling on Moss. “See, there’s this curse. S’been killing everyone on this boat, one by one. It can be anything, a disease, a rope… even a crab.”

“And I suppose you’ve seen this thing?” Moss growled.

“Oh, you all have. That chest in the hold? It’s _so_ cursed, it killed two people just getting it on board. You move that thing, you touch that thing, you die, right away! It’s a curse.”

“Curses don’t exist,” Lanke said. But his voice was very high, and he clutched the book tight to his chest. Pete looked about, and found that Rod and Davey were doing the exact same thing. They looked scared. Was he looking scared? His hands were shaking.

“B-but everyone’s…” began Rod. He couldn’t seem to finish.

“Charlie,” Lanke muttered, and if they hadn’t been on deck in public and if Lanke hadn’t been straight as they came, Pete would probably have held him.

“That’s enough.” Moss’s voice cut through whatever despair they were feeling. “There’s no curse. Don’t scare these boys.”

Boys! That stung enough to get Pete sitting up again. Lanke had his chin up, too. Good, but surely something could be said to get him looking less dead inside. Pete figured it was up to him. “Right!”, he barked. “I’m failing you on the team exercise, Brennan.”

"No, I am!" Lanke butted in, because if there was one thing you didn't do, it was get between Lanke and a grade or mark. "I'm in charge, Milroy, I'll fail him."

"Sir," Milroy said, and forced a goofy salute. Lanke must still have been shaken, because he didn't laugh. Didn't even respond, really.

“Just you wait,” Walker grinned, and winked at his mate. “Mine’ll fail even _better._ ”

Brennan smiled. It was not a pleasant one.

“Before that, I’ll go.” Moss rubbed at his brow. “I’ve been on plenty of boats. Not a single ship of mine hasn’t returned safe to shore. In fact, some years ago, on a voyage to Africa… well. Our trading vessel was ‘cursed’, by some savage calling himself a proper voodoo priest.”

“Voodoo!” Davey gasped. Peter wasn’t quite sure what that word meant, but presumably something bad. “But… you survived.”

“Indeed. We didn't care for what he shouted at us.” Moss folded his arms. “Because curses are not real. Only accidents… and bad men. Only trust who you can trust, and you'll find yourself lacking in curses.” 

He was loking right at Milroy when he said that, too. Damn. He was definitely getting betrayed in some manner later.

“Speaking of bad men,” began Walker, gesturing floridly to himself. Moss simply sighed. “I’d count myself not amongst the not worst, if you know what I mean?”

“Not amongst the n-not…” Rod shook his head. “Wait, why would you use a double nega-?”

Walker leaned into the circle, clearly enjoying his moment under the sun. Or not-sun. Moon, Peter supposed. Whatever, he clearly craved attention. “How about this for a story, a real juicy one: _Dahl’s a fishfucker._ ”

Such a terrible accusation – of a probably dead man, no less – got quite the reaction. Davey went very pale and started looking over the side of the ship, Rod tried to reassure him with a hand on his shoulder but nearly pushed the kid overboard, Brennan burst out laughing all over again, and Moss actually took a step back.

“That is _horrible._ And not true in the least. I knew that man, before he… _”_ Moss swallowed. “I knew him.”

“Oh, oh, but it’s true! Saw it with me own eyes and everything!”

“I- I don’t think I want to hear the rest of this story anymore, thankyou Walker,” Pete began, his head shaking - but it was far too late for that. Onwards went Walker, simply yelling over anyone who tried to talk over him.

“It was a dark and stormy night-”

“Stop stealing Midshipman Milroy’s story-”

“-and I thought I’d take a piss down in the lazarette, like I always do, ‘cuz if I went on deck someone would want me on duty-”

“You, y-you- you um, sir, _what-_ ”

“-so I went right on down there and guess what I saw, Dahl and these mermaids, like three of ‘em, going at it-”

“But how could an aquatic creature _possibly-_ well, according to my handbook on sealife-”

“-and see, that’s why he’s always screaming down there, ‘cuz he likes it so much, he’s got a thing, a feh-tish-”

“Come here, Davey, you need not listen to this obscene-”

“-for sexy fish ladies! Not that I'd think they're sexy, but Dahl does for certain!”

Brennan leaped to his feet again, though this time only to applaud. “ _Bravo_ , that’s what Nunzio’d say if that savage hadn’t gotten him! Well played, well played!”

“You know, I think I like these team building exercises. Let’s do ‘em again sometime.” And with that, Walker got up, bowed twice; then they were away before Peter or Moss could think about pulling swords on them. 

“…Insubordination. I will have to report this,” Moss muttered. He had his hands over Davey’s ears, but going off Davey’s look of complete and utter horror, he’d heard enough of the thing. Pete couldn't blame him for making that face; he was fairly sure he was making it himself. Surely none of that could be true. Surely.

....wasn't Dahl mad, though? Pete hadn't seen it, but he'd heard things that... didn't belong in team building exercises! Right. He was going to not think about those things.

Naples. He'd seen that, the leg, the other day, but it smelled so bad he couldn't go near. His stomach flipped. He tried to think about Walker's dumb story instead; that was easier. Bad, but easier.

Lanke interrupted all this by coughing, thank God. He was looking very, very red, and little wonder. This was presumably not part of whatever script had been laid out in those five hundred and ninety-whatever pages of that dumb book. Pete almost felt sorry for him, but well, this was pretty much all Lanke's fault for demanding they do the stupid exercise in the first place.

“I- I think that will be all for team building exercises tonight.” 

_Stupid git,_ thought Pete.

**Author's Note:**

>  _Done, done, done, done, done  
>  Yeah, we are done_  
> \-------  
> Because this is baby's first dinn fic on ao3, I got a little bit excited about it, and I typed up a list of all the dinn canon references and headcanons in this fic for funsies. You can see it at https://docs.google.com/document/d/1WUeOx4vx8mErIfpqd2PsarxviZACJ8_6rGPrdBW6xHo/edit?usp=sharing .  
> \-------
> 
> (Here is where I realize, some time after publishing, that this is the second ever fanfiction for the english obra dinn fanfics on AO3.
> 
> Oh _dear._ )


End file.
